The Legacy
by SweetCumberlove
Summary: Sherlock dies in the Fall but before that leaves something form him to Molly.


**The Legacy**

The notion of time exists only for those who feel the molecules of life buzzing around, causing them immense happiness or extreme pain. This is life first and foremost – a feeling. The more intense one feels its shrewdness, the fuller they experience it.

Occasionally, some really special people come around, real agents of life, who give you such an extreme experience of life that after them everything and everyone else is like the deafening silenced after a loud shriek.

No, without him there is nothing. It all came to a standstill the second he jumped. It probably gave him the comfort she knew he secretly needed. To everyone who loved him it gave something worse than death. Her whole universe shrunk in a single dot. And he is gone. Now nobody can have him, neither the ones whose company he preferred, nor the enemies he enjoyed, nor the one that came closest to seducing him, nor those who wished him nothing good. No one, no one. Not her as well. But of course, it was as it had always been. She was the one that least "had" him. Or so she used to think once…

- You are wrong, you know? You do count. You've always counted and I've always trusted you. But you were right. I'm not OK.

- Tell me what's wrong.

- Molly, I think I am going to die.

- What do you need?

- You.

After that it was all a maze. She could only leave herself in his hands. She never regretted it. She never said a word to anyone about it. It was all a second. All the time she has felt is presence close and tangible amounts to no more than brief seconds altogether. He showed unbelievable mercy by this act. What he did was far beyond the boundaries with which he surrounded the affections he harboured.

A gentle stab was all. She felt the cold needle entering her skin without hurting. He had to be perfect in everything. She was against his chest for the swiftest moment, then he gently pushed her back and she was weightless, so he had to hold her again, so that her soul does not scatter on the floor. Just before her sanity dissolves into the abyss, she felt his soft breath against her ear.

- Take a good care of her. She is the best I could leave you from me.

John has definitely decided to start anew. Life, work, friends…love… and the blog, first of all. Every major change consists of little meaningful towards the big goal. He believed in progress. However, believing is only one side of the matter. The real effort will be breaking free from the comfort of pain, as the dearest, sweetest moments in life leave the bitterest taste in the end…

But no! His trail of thought needed order and clarity. He opened the laptop. Online. Username: John Watson. Password: Afghanistan. Write a new post. Easier said than done! "He was my friend and I will always believe in him". He needed to pay him a visit. One last one before he moves on. There has to be a beginning of the end. Always.

It was so serene and peaceful today. A bit cloudy, mild breeze. It felt weatherless, timeless. I am idiot, he thought. I hope at the back of my mind I wasn't expecting to cheer up when paying a visit to the graveyard.

He was walking slowly, watching the green wet grass and counting his steps to his resting place. 221. Talk about the irony!

When he was already quite close he looked up and gasped with surprise. He was not the only one who had decided to visit him today. By the black marble his name was forever printed on, two figures were standing, completely immovable. A not-so tall woman with a child, whose gender was difficult to guess, as the head and indeed the whole tiny body were wrapped in a long dark overcoat and a navy blue hat. The woman hardly touched the child on the back and he or she moved forward and placed a bouquet of white flowers in the middle of the grave. Then stepped back to where it was previously standing. They both froze again, in a solemn awe.

John did not interfere. Much as he was curious to find out who the mysterious visitors were, he respected their moment of grief and remained silent until the woman turned around to go and their eyes met. Her! After all this time!

It has indeed been more than five years since he last saw or heard of Molly Hooper. She left soon after the fall and didn't keep in touch for long. From the several emails and one brief phone call he got the impression she somehow recovered quickly.

- I am still shaken, John. But I feel in a good place. If I don't move on now, I might never do. There are things to look forward to.

He could never fully understand what she meant. Years passed and he still couldn't quite figure her out. It is true, of course, that she might have moved to save herself from the unbearable pain, and yet, the tone of her letters and the voice on the other side of the wire had something that he definitely lacked. They had hope. And he envied her with all his heart about the courage to hope for the better in a world where he no longer belonged to.

And now, looking at her, he felt anger beyond reason because in her eyes he saw happiness.

- Well, what a surprise to finally see you again, Molly – he said quietly, unable to control the pain in his voice.

She stepped towards him, her eyes full of the wish to be forgiven.

- I am sorry, John. I didn't want to disappear but I had to.

- Yes, we all had the same reason and yet, we stayed. Me, Lestrade, Mrs Hudson – we all stayed and we all went through the grief. Only you couldn't find the courage to mourn properly.

- You have no right to say any of this!... But you are right to an extent, I needed to get away. And I did grief, John, I will never stop! So don't try to compare your pain to mine!

- Don't upset yourself, mama.

Mama? The child had finally spoken and John looked at her face for the first time. Yes, it was a girl with the sweetest, most soothing voice, pale skin, short curly black hair and…. No! It was not possible! John stepped back. Looking at her was as if he was looking at…

- You must be mama's old friend, uncle John Watson – she observed.

Her pair of cold, yet friendly eyes pierced his memory, cracking open a secret corner where he had been hiding a dear image from himself for such a long time.

John tried to come to his senses and said in a faint voice:

- Yes, I am John. And I am sorry I upset your mother – and by saying this he looked at Molly whose face had become flour-white.

- Oh, no need to apologise. You did not have any bad intentions, I know.

John was shocked. Such confidence, such wisdom and eloquence from such a young child!

Her whole complexion expressed intelligence and melancholy, sharpened by the cold look that John could swear was able to see through the bones of anyone.

- I think you are right in way to be angry with mama. You are a friend she forgot about. Perhaps I should apologise to you instead of her. I occupy most of her time, so I must be the main reason. She has always loved me very much.

He was breathless. Never in his whole life had he heard such a bold, straightforward and mature answer from a child. She was special. She was different. She was extraordinary.

- Come on, Imogene – Molly's voice broke the silence. – We are late, we need to go.

Then she turned at John, nervously murmuring something that sounded like "I will give you a call soon", then hurried down the path. Imogene left behind. Her and John shared a look he knew so well. It was a conversation without words and it lasted a couple of seconds but it was more than enough. Then she turned with no hurry and strode after her mother. Halfway through, she put both hands in the pockets of her coat and quickly straightened her back without changing the pace of her steps.

In the evening, Molly went online and for a reason dictated more by the inner sense than the habit, she searched for John's blog. There was a new post entitled "Imogene" and it contained a single sentence: "_She has your eyes, my friend_."


End file.
